Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.
a type of speech
MINUTIAE
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
with golden threads
death
doesn’t sprawl out on the couch
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.
It couldn’t be found because he took it with him.
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.
from the same arm of the scales
You satiate childhood with fables of fountains
CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.
a type of speech
MINUTIAE
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Use lipstick
to make people like you
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
“And how, from there, from that edge, that muffled yell, that tumbled childhood, can a kingdom spread?”
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
A subtle glimmer in the jasmine. A word,
its texture.
Recently you saw a wild plant growing on her grave.
Alone
amid marble steps
You shiver in the living room
and assume the irreversible:
Use lipstick
to make people like you
Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.
Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.
Nothing is enough for the royalty of a ghost.
There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.
You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)
Close your eyes and swallow the host of your lineage in a single mouthful.
CHILDHOOD ISN’T SOMETHING YOU CAN HAVE.
although
YOU CAN LOSE IT
Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?
“Where does this blooming come from?”
From time.
“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.
visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.
—